


The Graveyard

by mrua7



Series: Strange, scary stories and the Man from U.N.C.L.E. [56]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Ghosts, Halloween, Horror, Partnership, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 04:31:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16468802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Napoleon and Illya must meet a contact in a graveyard of derelict carnival rides on Halloween.





	The Graveyard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JantoJones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/gifts).



> Written for the Halloween challenge in Scrapbook on Livejournal

The prompt: a rusting and derelict carousel swing ride

 

 

“Napoleon are you sure this is the right place? You did not get us lost again, did you?” Illya was doing a 360˚ turn, surveying the area while walking behind his partner.

They were in a graveyard of sorts, though this one was where old carnival rides went to die. There was a decrepit carousel, overturned bumper cars and a rusted swing ride, among the many disintegrating amusements.

These were things that brought joy to people at one time but now they were discarded, rotting away with peeling paint and decaying metal; the happy memories were long long gone.

 

 

The grey sky filled with ominous storm clouds on the horizon and a damp chill in a gust of wind blew leaves and human detris across the ground.

Both agents turned up their suit collars on their jackets to ward against it as neither of them had worn an overcoat.

“Nooooo, I didn’t get us lost,” Solo shot back. “Just because I’ve taken a few wrong turns now and then doesn’t mean I always get us lost…”

There was no snarky retort from the Russian, prompting Napoleon to turn and face him, but Illya wasn’t there.

“Hey where’d you go?” Napoleon backtracked but found no sign of his partner. “Illya, come out come out wherever you are? Tovarisch, this isn’t funny!”

**“BOO!”** A figure wearing a latex clown mask with fuzzy red hair jumped out, startling the American. Solo was reaching for his holster when the mask was quickly removed, revealing his partner,

“NOT funny!” Napoleon barked. “I could have shot you.”

“But you did not. Perhaps your reflexes are slowing my friend?”

“I repeat, NOT funny!”

“If you could have seen the look on your face you would have thought it was,” Illya chuckled. It was an out of character prank for the usually stoic Russian to pull.

“Apparently you can dole out your own form of jocularity but when you are on the receiving end, the shoe is on the other foot.”

“Tsk,” Napoleon clicked his tongue.”Come on, let’s find our contact; it’s almost time to meet over by the swing ride.”

There the agents waited, crossing their arms in front of their chests, or rubbing their hands together while trying to keep warm. Their suits were entirely inadequate against the cold wind.

“There,” Illya pointed, “Someone is coming.”

A shadowy figure approached them but as it neared they saw that it was someone dressed as a clown.

“Again?” Solo grumbled. “Did you plan this? Another prank me thinks.”

Kuryakin shrugged. “Do no blame me this time. Did the communiqué say anything about the contact being in disguise?”

“No,” Solo drew his weapon, and Illya immediately followed suit.

Finally the clown arrived and he wasn’t a very friendly looking fellow.

 

He was covered in blood and his made up face flashed a look that one could only describe as maniacal.

Without warning, the UNCLE agents were surrounded by a thick cloud of smoke.

As the haze dissipated the carnival rides sprang to life; the carousel lit up and began to turn, the ferris wheel glowed in neon colors as it started to rotate.

It seemed as though ghostly figures were riding them.

Napoleon and Illya coughed violently. First Kuryakin collapsed to the ground, followed quickly by Solo.

When Napoleon opened his eyes everything was dark, as he blinked to focus he looked for Illya, but again the Russian was missing. This time he suspected it was not by his partner’s own choice.

“What just happened,” he asked himself. Standing, he dusted off his suit.

“Hahahahahahahahahaaaaaa!”

Laughter erupted in the darkness and Napoleon pulled a small flashlight from his pocket.

“Illya that better not be you!”

“No it’s not,” a voice called from the darkness. The sun had gone down, but the lights on the amusements bathed the area in an eerie, sickly glow of neon.

“Where’s my partner?” Napoleon demanded.

“There…”

A spotlight flashed, focusing on Kuryakin who was propped up on the swing ride. His hands were tied and there was a hangman’s noose around his neck.

“You’re going to watch him die, just the way I witnessed her die.”

“Who’s her and who the hell are you?” Napoleon called

”Let him go, this can be just between you and me...whoever you are.”

“It’s your fault she’s dead, don’t try to deny the truth. You stole my Vasha’s heart!”

“I don’t know who that is; you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

Napoleon moved carefully toward the voice; there was going to be no negotiating here, he knew that now. Finally the gruesome clown came into view.

“Behold,” it called.”Vasha again pays the price.”

“I don’t know who Vasha is, but that’s my friend Illya. Let him go!”

The ghostly figure of a woman dressed like a circus aerialist hovered next to Illya, a noose around her neck.

“The ghost of Vasha,” Napoleon mumbled.

The swing ride began to turn and Napoleon knew what that meant; the faster rotation would send Illya’s body outward through centrifugal force until he was strangled to death or his neck broke.

“Take me not him!” Napoleon barked. As he said that he charged the clown, but like a shadow it was gone in the blink of an eye.

Napoleon caught himself, staggering to keep from falling flat on his face. He turned, hearing the disembodied voice behind him now.

_**“Hahahahahahahaha!**_ Die Vasha die, you unfaithful bitch!”

Solo dashed to the swings and leapt onto the ride, timing it so that he landed right next to his partner. Holding on for dear life as the ride spun, he reached over and grabbed one of the chains supported the swing on which Illya was balance.

The Russian was red in the face, grimacing as the motion of the ride was tightening the noose around his neck.

“Knife!” He could barely get out the word.

Solo reached down the back of Illya’s suit jacket where the Russian kept his throwing knife sheathed.

Napoleon managed to sever the rope tied round Illya’s throat and in one quick motion he cut the bindings on the wrists. The ghost of the woman disappeared.

“One-two-three,” both men let go and the momentum of the swing sent them hurtling to the ground.

As soon as they hit, they rolled to a stop and at that exact moment the lights on the amusements when out...it was daylight again.

Everything was as it had been when they first arrived. The rusted swing ride was motionless except for the occasional wisp of wind that made the ropes flutter.

“Illya?” Napoleon turned to his partner.

Kuryakin broke into a fit of coughing.

“You okay tovarisch?”

“What just happened?” Illya gasped. We were standing near the swings waiting for our contact and now we are on the ground.”

“You don’t remember?”

“Remember what? Napoleon will you just speak plainly?”

“Give me a second.” Solo tried undoing his partner’s tie and top shirt button.

“What are you doing?” Illya demanded while slapping away Solo’s hands.

“Hey you two, what are you doing on the ground?” A man wearing a suit and trench coat called to them.

Napoleon rose, seeing his gun on the ground; he dove for it, managing to grab and point it at the man.

“Whoa, wait a minute Solo! It’s me Marty Kess your contact...here’s the courier pouch. See!”

It took a moment for Napoleon to focus and recognize the man.

“Sorry Marty, something really strange just happened here. Someone dressed like a clown tried to kill Illya.”

“Napoleon,” Kuryakin interrupted,” I have no memory of such an event. You must have imagined it. Do you feel unwell?”

“I’m fine and I didn’t imagine it. Look up there,” he pointed to the swings. That rope up there was tied around your throat and you were choking to death as the ride began to turn. I got your throwing knife from it sheath beneath your suit jacket and cut you free.”

Kuryakin’s hand went immediately to his back, feeling that his knife was indeed missing. As he glanced around he saw it laying on the ground near the swing ride.

Marty’s face went white.

“Years ago someone with the carnival, a clown named  Zeeko, murdered an performer named Vasha. She was hung to death on the swing ride. As it turned her body swung outwards, tightening a noose around her neck until the momentum broke her neck. He was her lover and he murdered her thinking she’d cheated on him. Afterwards he committed suicide by jumping from the ferris wheel. It’s said he returns to reenact the deed with any unsuspecting innocents on All Hallow’s Eve, though I’ve never heard of anyone actually witnessing it. It was just local lore.”

“If that’s the case why did you choose this location for the exchange, given it’s All Hallow’s Eve?” Napoleon quipped.

“To be honest I didn’t even occur to me. I just picked it because it’s remote.”

“Your ghost story about this Vasha and her lover is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard,” Illya snapped.

He reached out, taking the courier pack from Marty. “If you do not mind, it will be getting dark soon; I would like to be on the road before sundown. There is a storm coming and I would rather not be caught in it.”

Solo and Kuryakin headed back to their car, as before Illya walked behind his partner keeping a wary eye on their surroundings

Unseen to Napoleon, the Russian was rubbing his throat; it had red marks on it like rope burns;he said nothing.

Kuryakin found these supernatural events unsettling; the scientist in him wanted to dismiss it as nonsense yet remained of the child still hidden deep within him found it frightening.

He’d never let Napoleon know that…

Once riding in the car, this time with Illya behind the wheel Napoleon tried to rationalize what happened, though he wasn’t very successful.

“Tovarisch, you really don’t remember anything that happened?”

“Napoleon, might we please talk about something else. We do have a long ride to the field office.”

“Fine, how about we listen to the radio?” Solo turned the dial and of all songs that had to be playing…’Graveyard’ by a group called The Blenders.

 

<https://youtu.be/n-lR-r86hyI>

 

 

 


End file.
